


Diametric Opposition

by writing_addiction



Series: Imminent Revolution [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 23:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10707030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_addiction/pseuds/writing_addiction
Summary: Phichit sat on the edge of the bed and thought.  This was a bad idea.  This was a horrible idea.  Except that it wasn't.





	Diametric Opposition

**Author's Note:**

> The subject matter of this story gets pretty dark at times, and I urge anyone who is triggered by mentions of self-harm or thoughts of suicide to please be very careful. We get a glimpse into Phichit's view of things here, and he's not shy when talking about the specifics of Yuuri's mental illnesses.
> 
> This fic takes place and should be read immediately after Part 2 of [Imminent Revolution](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9164764/chapters/20808895). I highly suggest you read that first, as this fic expands upon some themes that were introduced there first. Speaking of, I'm definitely working on getting the next chapter written, but it's slow going at the moment, and I wanted to at least let you guys have this in the mean time. Thanks so much for reading!

**** While Yuuri helped Viktor settle in for the night, Phichit sat on the edge of the bed and thought.  His  _ intention _ was to change into his pajamas and wash the make-up off his face and go straight to bed.  Maybe he would devote a bit of time to thinking about the most delicate way to tell a 17-year-old to go back to his own country and leave Yuuri the hell alone, but he was exhausted and that was a fight for tomorrow’s Phichit to have.  But when he sat down to unlace his shoes, a thought struck him.  A thought so profound and surprising that he couldn’t dismiss it like he wished he could.  With one of his shoes still in his hand, he let himself consider the ramifications of this idea, how it might affect Yuuri, and Viktor, and himself.

What if Yuuri  _ did _ coach Viktor?

He honestly did his best to ignore it and move on.  It was a stupid idea.  Over the past few months, ever since Yuuri’s close call at the Grand Prix Final, they had talked extensively about the future, whether or not Yuuri would ever try to come back to the competitive scene, whether he wanted to take on students, or if it might just be better at first to give himself some space from the sport altogether.  Yuuri always seemed conflicted when they talked about figuring skating, and Phichit couldn’t say he blamed him.  Yuuri  _ loved _ skating with all his heart, but no matter what he might decide about the future, the only path to take  _ right now _ was clear: he had to get away from it for a little while.

Since the GPF, Yuuri had been briefly hospitalized, had switched doctors and therapists and medications and dosages more times than seemed possible, and had spent his nights either sleepless or on the edge of a panic attack more often than not.  It had been hard on both of them.  Phichit found himself increasingly frightened to be away from his fiancé for very long.  Losing track of him for twenty minutes at the banquet in Sochi had nearly been disastrous, and with his emotional state only slightly less tumultuous now than it had been, Phichit was always scared that Yuuri would relapse and make a rash decision in a moment of weakness.

(He’d tried to make himself have more faith in Yuuri and his recovery, but he couldn’t quite manage it.  They’d been down this road before.)

Dragging him down to the rink every day, though, especially when it was the last place he wanted--or needed--to be, wouldn’t really help anything either.  Oh, he knew Yuuri would always want to support him, but Phichit could see how much just stepping through the front door hurt him.  Being reminded of what Yuuri saw in himself as the biggest failure of his entire life was simply more than he could bear.  It wasn’t a failure, though, and no matter how many times Phichit tried to convince him of that, Yuuri couldn’t see retirement as anything but running away from his problems.  

The first day Phichit had gone to practice without him, Yuuri called him twice to ask how his day was going.  As much as he appreciate the effort, and as much as he realized that something as simple as a phone call could help Yuuri through a difficult moment, that habit wasn’t really feasible either.  Every time his cell phone rang or one of the rink employees told him he had a call, his heart would start pounding in his chest, worried that the person on the other end of the line was an EMT or a nurse or someone else telling him that Yuuri had hurt himself again.  

And there were going to be times when they had to be apart and without a means of immediate communication.  They hadn’t talked about it yet, but Phichit seriously doubted Yuuri was going to be down for being dragged all over the world to sit on the sidelines at qualifying competitions, the GPF, and other events this season.  It would just give reporters and other skaters the opportunity to ask him questions he probably wasn’t ready to answer publicly yet.  Yuuri was an intensely private person.  It was difficult enough for him to open up when it was just the two of them at home.  He wasn’t going to survive being surrounded by the sport he loved but couldn’t touch, being pestered by people he didn’t know about things he wasn’t prepared to talk about.

...which was exactly why coaching Viktor Nikiforov should have been such a horrible idea.  Phichit shouldn’t even be thinking about this.  He should just take off his other shoe and throw them in the closet and finish his bedtime routine.  But he couldn’t.

A long time ago, Yuuri had been shy about asking for help or support when he needed it, and when they were still getting used to each other as friends and then, later, as lovers, they had never really thought of it as an issue.  But when Yuuri’s mental illnesses had gotten seriously bad the first time around, they had both actively worked to change that.  Now it was no big deal for either of them if Yuuri reached out for help.  It was good.  It was necessary.  It wasn’t a failure.  Yuuri knew that now.  He was so much better about it now, about telling Phichit how he was feeling and what he needed, even if it was just a distraction until the moment passed.  Once, Yuuri had admitted that he had made a plan to kill himself, a timetable, but he had always found a reason to postpone it, whether it was as big as “I want to get through this season” or as simple as continually procrastinating it until the next day.  “I promised Phichit I would wash the dishes today.”  “I want to see that movie when it comes out.”  “Who will kiss Phichit goodnight if I’m gone?”

Yuuri was a fighter, even if he couldn’t see himself that way at times.  He was always willing to carry on the battle; all he needed was for someone to occasionally help him arm himself with a new weapon when the one he was using was no longer effective.

What if Viktor could be Yuuri’s newest weapon?  What if Viktor was the kind of project Yuuri needed to keep himself focused?  The past few weeks had been rough.  Yuuri hadn’t quite found a hobby or a new interest that held his attention for very long.  Phichit was slowly realizing that his lethargy and apathy might not have been a function of mental illness, but just plain old  _ boredom _ .  With nothing else to occupy his mind, his thoughts strayed either to a dark place he knew he should stay away from or back to figure skating.  Neither of which was really what he needed at the moment.  Taking care of the hamsters and doing housework could only sustain him for so long, and there were only so many hours of binge-watching shows on Netflix or Hulu that a person could do before their ass went numb.  

Yuuri needed direction and purpose, and they’d talked a few days ago about him getting a part-time job to keep his hands busy.  Yuuri had a degree in linguistics and spoke English with nearly a native fluency.  He’d told Phichit he’d been thinking about finding out what qualifications it took to teach ESL classes.  And that was a start.  It was something he was passionate about, and Yuuri’s kind soul would benefit from helping people in that way.  If that was what he wanted to do, Phichit would support him wholeheartedly.

But it wasn’t figure skating, and right now, that was all Yuuri was able to focus on.  Every discussion they had ended with Yuuri dejectedly pointing out that he just wanted to skate again.  All he wanted was to get back out on the ice, but at the same time, he was scared to death of the thought.

What if Viktor was the answer?  He wasn’t some newbie that Yuuri would have to train from scratch, whose hand he would have to hold through learning the basics. He was already accomplished in his own right.  And what Viktor needed was a coach who could help him smooth out his rough edges with a skillful eye and measured pace.  Yakov Feltsman was an excellent coach; the man had trained some of the best skaters Russia had ever seen.  There was no doubt that he was a great teacher.  But no matter how excellent Yavok was, Viktor had still come all the way here to beg a depressed, anxious, retired Japanese man to be his new coach.  Oh, Phichit didn’t doubt that child had his own selfish motivations for coming here, and it was his personal goal to figure out what the hell they were.  Viktor could benefit from having someone who could challenge him to better himself for the art of the sport rather than the glory of winning.  Winning was nice, but living only for your next gold medal and forgetting to enjoy your life in the moment would suck him dry if he wasn’t careful.

Yuuri had dismissed the idea of coaching before, but if this worked out, if Viktor was the kind of student Yuuri could help, if Yuuri could find his place in the world again by guiding Viktor, if this could give Yuuri a way to engage with his passion for skating while displacing the pressure to always win off of his shoulders...?

This was a bad idea.  

Except that it wasn’t.

The sound of someone entering the room brought him out of his thoughts.  Still sitting on the edge of the bed, still holding one of his shoes in his hand, Phichit looked up at Yuuri.  Maybe, if they were very lucky, this could work.

“Hey, Yuuri, I know you think you know what I’m about to say, but just...listen for a sec, okay?”


End file.
